Page 75 of Knox's Boy

I felt my face flush and forced myself to walk to the pool's edge. The tiles were warm beneath my bare feet, heated by the morning sun.

"I'm not very good at this," I warned, dipping a toe in the water. It was pleasantly cool, a relief from the growing heat of the day.

Knox moved to the edge of the pool, water streaming down his chest as he extended a hand. "That's why we're practicing. I won't let anything happen to you."

I took his hand and let him guide me down the steps into the shallow end. The water rose to my waist, cool.

"We'll start with floating," Knox said, his hand still firmly clasping mine. "Lean back. I'll support you."

I hesitated, irrational fear creeping up my spine despite the clear water and visible bottom. "I'll sink."

"You won't," he promised, his free hand moving to my back. "I've got you. Trust me."

I did trust him, more than I'd ever trusted anyone. So, I took a deep breath and leaned back, feeling my feet lift from the bottom as I surrendered my weight to his hands. For a moment, panic flared as water lapped at my ears, but Knox's hands were there, one supporting my lower back, the other beneath my shoulders, steady and sure.

"Relax," his voice came, slightly muffled by the water. "Let your body go loose. Fighting the water makes you sink."

Gradually, I felt my muscles unclench, my back softening into his palms. The sun warmed my face while the water cooled my body, creating a delicious contrast.

"Good boy," Knox murmured, and even half-submerged, those words sent warmth pooling in my stomach. "Now extend your arms at your sides, like wings."

I followed his instructions, feeling strangely vulnerable spread out on the water's surface, my ears submerged so that all sounds became distant and muted. Knox's hands remained, solid points of contact anchoring me.

Over the next hour, he guided me through basic strokes. His hands were everywhere, adjusting the angle of my arms, supporting my hips to correct my body position, cupping my chin to help me find the right breathing rhythm. Each touch was intimate, firm but gentle. By the end of the lesson, Knox stood at the far edge, arms crossed over his chest, watching my progress with pride.

"You're a natural at this," he said as I reached him, slightly breathless. He brushed wet hair back from my forehead, his thumb lingering at my temple. "I'm very proud of you, especially for trying something so scary."

I beamed under his praise, water dripping from my lashes. "I have a good teacher."

I reached for him. Okay, I did climb him a little, and Knox just folded me in, like it was the most natural thing in the world. I clung to his neck and pressed my face into his shoulder, inhaling sun-warmed skin and chlorine with just a hint of that cologne hewore even on vacation. He held me tight, hand splayed over my ribs just below where my heart hammered way too fast for how little actual cardio we'd done. I felt weightless, anchored only by his arms, and a little dizzy.

He checked his watch and nodded. "Lunch in thirty minutes. We'll practice again tomorrow."

I didn't let go of him. I lounged for a little longer, looking at him with my best 'please, Daddy’ eyes.

“Can't we stay here a little longer?”

“Sure, little boy,” he said. “For twenty more minutes. Then, lunch.”

“You are no fun!” I protested.

He raised an eyebrow, lips twitching, and I could see him deciding how to one-up my sass. “I have endless fun,” he said, “especially when you’re being a brat. You realize you’re only making tomorrow’s lesson more… thorough.”

That made my stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with swimming. “Are you going to make me wear floaties, Daddy?”

He considered. “I suppose if you’re really that helpless, we could find some.”

“You’re mean,” I said, but I didn’t let go, just moved to straddle his lap even more. “Maybe you want to enroll me in the kids’ swim class and make me do laps with all the six-year-olds.”

He grinned. “That’s not a bad idea. Next time we’re in the States, I’ll look for some classes.”

“Daddy!”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, mock-stern. “Brats get what’s coming to them.”

I nipped his shoulder, teeth barely grazing the skin, eyes on his. “What if I’m a very good boy at lunch?”

He trapped me between his hands. “Good boys don’t negotiate their punishments,” he said. “But. If you’re excellent, I might be convinced to forget about all this bratting and reward you.”